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The rhythmic tapping of the pen on the diner's booth table was one of the few sounds still reaching Tim's ears as he thought, everything else just diluted background noise. It was getting lighter out, the sun waking up and stretching itself over the horizon. Tim watched the cars on the street slowly increase in number, people waking up as well and heading to work. He knows the routine.
"Sir?" Tim jolted and turned his head around to the poor waiter, who also looked startled and quickly apologetic. Her notepad lifted to her chest as she put on a soft smile. "Sorry for spooking you, but, ah- would you like to order something?" Right. He's just been sitting at the table since before the inklings of blue leaked into the sky. He's had a coffee a while ago just to remain in the diner, but that's long been drank and dismissed in favor of doodling simple objects and whatever impersonal things came to mind in his journal. The pages are still mostly empty, having only gotten it about a month ago. His doctor recommended that he used it as a record of his daily activities and thoughts, but he obviously only ever put down simple things; if anyone read it, he'll still be safe. He can keep his secrets, for the most part.
"...Sir?"
Tim floundered a bit, picking up the menu. "I'll just have the, uh, the house pancakes."
She nodded and wrote in the notepad.
"And for the sides?"
"Hash browns and scrambled eggs."
"Sounds delicious." She commented as she wrote, sounding genuine, but Tim could tell it was just one of those throwaway lines to sound customer friendly. "Alright, we'll get that to you shortly." He looked back out the window as she walked off to the kitchen, and watched some birds flit in a group to the next tree. He sighed, deep and quiet, looking back at his journal. The pen was sitting neatly in the spine of it, page mostly blank save for the occasional margin scribbles to check if the ink is running properly. He picked up the pen and wrote the date.
August 12, 2014
Diner. Watching birds outside. The sun is rising
He stopped and looked back outside. Deep orange, bleeding into bright blue. He wrote that down, and continued.
It's been nearly two months, now. I still see
He scribbles out the second sentence before it can be finished, frowning at himself. He needs to move on.
It takes him more than a minute or two just sitting there, letting that statement sit in his mind and occasionally repeat itself. Bolded. Underlined. Thin. He had to move on.
Maybe he should actually write what's on his mind for once. Get it all out, then scribble it all away until there was not a single word visibly left. So he got to writing, before he could convince himself to push it under again.
I see them. So much. Jay's in the trees and in the birds, funny enough. He shows up for split seconds in dark shadows. He won't leave me in my nightmares. None of them do, Alex Brian Jay Jessica They just keep showing up. Brian's always the one smiling at me. He never looks mad at me, no matter how bloody or broken he looks, no matter how dead. Sometimes I think I can hear him cracking a joke, or laughing, or telling me something that's supposed to make me feel better even when I don't know what the words are. He just smiles at me like I wasn't the one who hurt him, like he was doing everything exactly the way he wanted. Jay doesn't smile, but I can see it all in his eyes. It's always sad, or longing, or curious, even sorry. I never like it when he looks sorry. Like he's the one responsible for everything that happened. He kind of was for some of it, but not in the way he thought. He never spoke a word to me, either, but I could tell he wanted to. Maybe to say something he never ended up saying, maybe to ask me to help him out with a lead. I know there was a lot Jay wanted to say, back during the hotel hopping. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to spill something or other out so much, but never did. Just kept to what was probably the minimum and gave me space. He looked so sad all the time, kind of lost. There was even a point where I could tell he completely forgot his past, anything past the tapes and the channel just.... gone. It was the most lost I've ever seen anyone before. It hurt to look at sometimes.
Jessica doesn't show up much, but sometimes I see her passed out or running away or silently yelling at something in the distance, only for a short moment. Alex was always the worst one to see. If he wasn't laying on the floor choking on his own blood and filling the room with an oppressive atmosphere, he'd be yelling shit at me or taunting me for killing him and everyone else. He keeps saying it's my fault this all happened. I don't want to, but I believe him. They're dead because of me. It was a mess. I could've stuck in my shell all the way back. Turn down that audition. I could've stopped it before it even started. I could've let so many people continue living their life. Seth, Amy, Brian, Jay, Alex, Jessica, that one guy in the tunnel. I don't remember if there were more. I hope there isn't. I don't want to forget them, feels wrong to. Like disrespecting a gravesite. I may have hated Alex, but he used to be just some guy trying to make a film. A kinda shitty film, but it's not like any of us could've written it better. Maybe Brian. But not enough to be noticed by others and actually make an impact
The plate being set down next to Tim made him nearly tear the paper with the pen, quickly closing the journal as the same lady from before gave him yet another sweetly apologetic look.
"Sorry again. Here's your order, hot and fresh. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" He nodded and she walked away, leaving him to calm his heart and at least try to eat something. Tim glances back at the journal. It definitely feels like some weight lifted off of him, but there was still a faint dread of someone being able to see what he wrote.
Setting his fork back down, he reopened to the page of writing and began scribbling away, starting by just going at the entire thing but soon switching to redact each line from the top down. Only when it looked completely unreadable aside from the impersonal basics and the date did he stop, going to the neighboring page and writing down one more thing.
Things are still fine. Eating pancakes, hash browns, scrambled eggs. Might go look for a better job today, anything besides fast food or customer service. Maybe truck driving. I don't think I should be around people for too long. It's better that way.
He closed the journal one more time, and finally settled in to eat.